


A Battle of Wills

by InterruptingMoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: After the Vietnam war, Big Brother Michael, Dean will save him, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, I'll add more characters and tags later, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Multi, Protective Michael, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Soldier Castiel, Suicidal Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This is me attempting to write angst, but don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterruptingMoose/pseuds/InterruptingMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 1975 when Castiel returned home, to Kansas. At nineteen, he had seen horrors beyond imagination and as a soldier, there are certain things that war can do to you. They can ruin you, destroy you, just like they did Castiel. He's full of self-loathing and disgust. One little step forward and he could end it all.</p><p>But then he meets Dean Winchester, the local mechanic, and slowly, but surely, he begins to step back and piece his life back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Battle of Wills

The year was 1975. It was a warm summer night in the state of Kansas and the children played in the streets, kicking cans toward one another, laughing with glee and joy.

A young man watched the children with curiosity, reminiscing back to his youth when it was himself kicking the cans around and playing with his friends. Those days were now distant memories, merely echoes of the past. A past he had left behind long ago.

But now he was back, and all of those memories came rushing back to him, clashing with one another to hurt him, to let him know what he had done wrong.

He left it all behind, instead of facing his fears he ran away from them, and he ran for a long time.

The children laughed and pointed at each other yelling 'bang! bang! bang!' at the top o their lungs, pretending to fall to the ground.

The sound of the gun going off ripped through the man's ears. The echo of the ear-splitting 'bang' tore through his mind. Thick black smoke clouded his vision and the distraught screams of men sounded through the air as the 'bang! bang! bang!' steadily grew louder and the agonising pain of reality hit him hard as he snapped out of vision. He did not dare look back at the savage hell he had left behind him.

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder and pushed back his damp, dark, messy locks. He made his way, trudging down the street, ignoring his surroundings as his nerves built up. His heart was thumping uncomfortably against his rib cage and his blood rushed wildly through his body.

He could have led a simple life, he could have continued with school and went on to university, and become a doctor or a lawyer that his older brother had always told him he'd grow up to be, but he had abandoned those ideas, those dreams of living a simple, easy life.

Now he will be haunted forever by the anguish and harm he had caused, his own mind had turned against him, trying to hurt him, trying to make him remember everything that had happened, everything he had done.

He hadn't won the war, because he was still here, an empty shell of the man he once was, filled with sorrow and agony.

The man stopped into a local bar and took a seat at the counter, the smell smoke, perfume and liquor hung in the air, and the raucous laughter of drunken men bounced off of the walls. 

The man looked down at the polished wooden counter, a pale, black haired man with dead blue eyes stared back.

"Can I get ya somthin', sugar?" The man looked up and women stood their, long blonde hair fell past her shoulders, a delicate eyebrow raised above her warm brown eyes as she wiped at the counter.

"I'll have a whiskey, thank you." He ordered in a rough, gravelly voice, wringing his hands together.

"Sure thing." She smiled as she pulled out a glass and filled it. "I'm Jo, by the way, Jo Harvelle. New to town?" She asked, passing the drink to him.

"Not really." The man replied. "I lived here once, a long time ago."

"Really?" She asked. "I think I'd remember a face like yours." 

"I left here a curious boy and returned an empty man." He sighed, taking a deep gulp of his drink, ignoring the raw burning in his throat. "I should've seen it coming." He muttered.

"Why?" Jo asked, trying not to pry too much.

"Well, my brother always told me; 'Life isn't like a movie, you're not always going to have that happy ending." He quoted and memories of his childhood came flooding back. He quickly shook his head and took out his wallet, leaving a twenty on the counter, as he was about to leave, he turned back to Jo.

"My name is Castiel, by the way."


End file.
